


Have We Met Before?

by Trentkusuri



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, RusAme, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2018-11-14 18:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11213850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trentkusuri/pseuds/Trentkusuri
Summary: A series of occurrences in which Alfred and Ivan meet for the first timeand start their lifelong relationship





	1. Can we meet again?

**Author's Note:**

> (^Except for the first chapter, anyway)

           In a small, faroff cathedral just off the dirt road next to nowhere, a young man lay draped over an elaborately decorated coffin, weeping softly onto the fine wood beneath his tired, mournful eyes. The man couldn’t remember how long he’d been there, sobbing, but every moment felt like an eternity without the presence of his deceased love.

           Unbeknownst to himself, he had come to embrace the coffin in what could be described as a hug; if only he could wrap the man within in a comforting embrace rather than that of the cold void of death.

           Much time had passed since the organist gave his condolences as he departed and even more time had passed since the wake completed, but, even so, the man couldn't bring himself to depart from his dearly departed; he would feel guilty if he did so, as if he could live without his dear love. 

           He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

Why had the world robbed him of his warmth, his happiness, his joy, his will to live?

           The man kissed softly at the face of the coffin where his teary face laid directly beside his lover’s name which was engraved in a beautiful cursive script, his happy visage displayed off to the side of it. The man couldn’t accept that the photograph beside him was the last time he would see his lover’s smiling face and he wailed balefully.

           “Come back.” They hiccuped softly, voice hoarse from hours of crying, “Come back to me.” they begged quietly

           They breathed shakily for a moment and, as if saddened further by the lack of divine intervention and a response, they let out a crestfallen sob.

           The man clutched both his lover’s and his wedding rings that they had exchanged years ago in his hand. He held onto them as if they were the last tangible thing in existence that gave him reason to be tethered to this world; to him they were.

           “C...Come meet me...” They cried

           “‘H-Have we met before’?” They cried softly, memories swelling unbidden in his mind as he turned his head to gaze at their lover’s face in the nearby photograph once more, “I want to meet you again.”. 

           The man looked at the smiling face of the man he’d hugged hundreds of times, kissed hundreds perhaps even thousands of times. He would never again be able to pull the other into a characteristic bear hug, he would never again be able to kiss him awake or kiss him to sleep. He would never be able to tease them. He would never be able to tell them he loved him.

           “I don’t want to let go...” they sobbed quietly against the cold coffin.

           In the hours, days, lifetimes to come, that was the one wish they had.

           “I want to meet you again.”


	2. I LockPICK You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ivan is locked out of his apartment late at night and a certain American helps him out.

           Ivan sat in the lounge of the apartment complex he lived in, locked out. Locked out at two in the morning. The main office of the complex had closed for the evening and, thus, Ivan was locked out of his home.

           So, Ivan sat on the lumpy sofa of the fourth floor lobby, staring at what used to be a hot coffee, but now went unattended as he regretted his life choices and the events that lead up to them.

           That day, the Russian had had the king of bad days. From being late to work to almost being fired to losing his apartment keys. As Ivan sat, the resentment he held for himself only seemed to grow. “At least I have a nice comfortable bed to sleep in.” Ivan scoffed to himself, reflecting on an optimistic comment he had made to himself earlier in the day. He cradled his head in his hands, brought one of his hands down and wrapped his knuckles on the smooth wooden surface of the coffee table before him, watching the ripples in his coffee that resulted in the action. 

           For such a shabby apartment complex, this coffee table certainly stood out amongst the rest of the furniture and even the rooms. Ivan concluded that this coffee table must have been donated or left behind by a more wealthy patron because such an elaborately decorated, fine piece of furniture certainly did  _ not _ belong in this complex.

           This day couldn’t get much worse, Ivan thought before proceeding to kindly beg the world not to prove him wrong. Ivan dragged his gaze upwards upon hearing a loud series of clatters and thuds from the elevator attached to the lobby.

           “Shity tits!” Ivan heard an irrirated voice howl, a muffled tone to it. Ivan’s eyes were brought downward as he spied several bottles of water roll freely from the elevator. After a few moments of listening to the apparently epic struggle of the man in the elevator, Ivan accidentally locked eyes with the man in question as he emerged from the elevator. 

           The man who emerged wore a disgruntled expression on his face, clearly displeased with the current goings on. The man wasn’t familiar to the Russian, but he, for some reason, did look familiar to the taller man; was he perhaps a new resident?

           The blonde smiled sheepishly upon noticing his captive audience and they both let out an awkward chuckle.

           As Ivan was given the opportunity to fully take in the blonde before him, it became clear as to why the man’s exclamation had been so dampened.

           In the man’s teeth he held tightly clenched between pearly whites what could have only been a large bag of flaming hot cheetos. THe bottles of water, it would seem, however, were not so lucky. What appeared to be at least a half dozen water bottles had fallen from the assumed place being tucked under the man’s arm onto the lobby floor with the loud, hard thud. But, as if prioritizing the flaming hot cheetos, the man still clenched the food in question between a determined set of teeth, even as he spoke. 

           The shorter man managed a chuckle with the bad in his mouth before awkwardly shifting his items and weight around, piling them on the lobby floor before him. 

           “Evenin’.” THe American said, the bad still in his mouth; he removed it soon after and continued, giving a smile and a chuckle, “Or should I be saying: ‘good morning’?” He wondered aloud before going about recollecting his groceries, especially the scattered water bottles.

           “Wouldn’t you know it: first the grocery bags rip and fall apart and then I go ‘n drop all of ‘em.” The blonde lamented with a smile despite his predicament.

           “Well at least you did not drop your cheetos?” Ivan wondered. 

           The other an blinked and proceeded to let out a heartsome laugh. “Yeah; I got my priorities in line, don’tcha think?” he chuckled as he retrieved the last runaway water bottle. 

           Ivan chortled softly, surprised that he was able to do so at all with the way his day had gone so far. “Yes.” Ivan replied simply, “I also noticed how you carefully set down your junk food after letting your essential water drop to the floor.” Ivan jested.

           The American laughed again and Ivan felt himself smile; perhaps Ivan was simply desperate to be happy at that moment, but he had already longed to hear that laugh again. 

           “Hey, hey, hey; Flamin’ hot cheetos are essential for  _ me _ .” The American replied, a grin on his face.  THe blonde approached, intent on using the coffee table as a resource to help himself reaffirm his grip on his groceries, “Hot cheetos run through my veins, man.” he said, patting the bag in discussion affectionately before placing it on the table top.

           “I Fear for your health.” Ivan said flatly, without missing a beat, the smile adhered to his mouth betraying the supposed bite to his jape.

           “Oooh, don’t worry about me, I’m in peak performance!” Alfred said with a continued grin.

           “So you will be coming down soon then, da?” Ivan teased, enjoying the reactions he was eliciting from the young man.

           The blonde blinked and let out a sound of mock sadness before replying, “Man,  you are roasting me, dude!” He exclaimed, “but no, no, man,” He said in response to the Russian’s earlier question, “I gotta be in peak performance so that I’m able to keep that sad look of your face and get that happy smile on your face!” he explained, as if it was obvious, second nature to him, a happy grin still on his face.

           Ivan was left visibly stunned, “How, how would you know...” He began.

           “Well, I saw you at the grocery store.” they responded before the other finished, “Er, well, I saw you on the street while I was on my way into the store.” He amended, “You were lookin’ at your coffee like it stole your money.” He commented with a chuckle, gesturing idly to the offending cup of joe. “...’n then you switched to looking at it like your dog died.” He pointed out, the happiness leaving his features for a moment. 

           Ivan, unaware that he wore his heart on his sleeve on the regular looked at the American with continued surprise,

           “I was gonna come over ‘n talk to you, but you seemed in a rush and I mean, c’mon,” he said, scooping up the bag of junk food, “this addiction ain’t gonna support itself.” the man said, more than delighted in the laugh that the joke got out of the Russian.

           “Of course.” Ivan said, shaking his head, a smile on his face. After a moment, Ivan remembered what had lead into this conversation and voiced, awkwardly, “O-Oh, but I am fine, it’s just...”

           The man looked to him to finish his sentence, but upon receiving no indication that the other would continue, he pressed, “Sooo, what’s bothering you?” He wondered, sitting himself down on the sofa across from the other, “Oh! I’ Alfred by the way.” Alfred added, extending a hand out to the taller man.

           “Ah.” Ivan said, accepting the handshake, “I’m Ivan.” He responded.

           “Evan?” The American wondered before shaking his head, “Ivan?” He echoed, pronouncing it the ‘American’ way. Not interested in correcting or teaching the proper Russian pronunciation of his name at the moment, Ivan nodded. 

           “Da.” He said as he let go on the other’s hand.

           “Nice to meet ya, Ivan!” Alfred said with a genuine smile, “So, Ivan.” Alfred began, “What’s got you down today?”

           “Well...” Ivan began pensively, but, in the next moment was gushing; the Russian wasn’t sure why at that time, but Ivan felt like he could share all of his problems with this random American he had just met; it was as if he had shared his problems with the happy go lucky blonde countless times before, as if this wasn’t the first time he’s shared his problems with the handsome young man from Texas.

           “Texas?” Ivan wondered in the deep recesses of his mind. Yes, he supposed that the American did have a certain look to him; perhaps Alfred was too happy and innocent looking to have grown in this neighborhood his whole life. Before Ivan had the opportunity to properly engage the thought, however, it was lost to the void of lost thoughts and Ivan simply continued his recounting of his horrible day.

           Ivan ended up telling the other every detail: from spilling his food at lunch to missing his bus to being locked out of his apartment with the front office closed, yielding him locked out. Alfred listened intently for the whole story, frowning and tutting at appropriate times. 

           “And now I am stuck in the lobby until 8am when the front desk worker comes back to work.; I am lucky I got in at all.” Ivan sighed as he finished his re-telling of the worst day he’d ever had.

           “Man, you really got it bad today, Ivan..” Alfred said, his brow furrowed and Ivan agreed. A short, but nevertheless awkward silence followed after, the only sound permeating the air being the rumbling of Alfred humming in thought and the creaking of the sofa caused by the American shifting around slowly on the old sofa. 

           “Hey.” Alfred interjected, breaking the silence, “You know what I think you need?” he asked, sitting upright and smiling, his expression and rising inflection instilling hop in the taller man.

           “A whole bottle of Vodka?” Ivan half joked, half meant 

           Alfred chuckled, which served to lighten Ivan’s mood at least a little bit. “Yeah, that too.” Alfred said with a smile and shook his head. “Nah, I think you need the help of a phantom thief.” the younger said, unnoticed pride as well as enthusiasm radiating off of him.

            Ivan looked at him dumbly for a long moment before simply saying, “...What?”

           Alfred smiled sheepishly, “Sorry; too much Persona 5.” he said.

           Deciding he didn’t want to confuse himself further, Ivan didn’t press the issue. Upon noticing the silence he was making, Alfred pressed on, saying more simply, “Er, I mean-- I can help you get into your house.”

           Ivan was taken aback, surprise blooming on his face, “Really?” He asked with increasing excitement.

           “Yeah!” Alfred exclaimed excitedly, feeding off the other’s energy.

           “How? Ivan wondered, looking at him curiously, “Do you know the front desk worker?”    
           At that question, an amount of the excitement drained from the blonde’s visage to be replaced with pent up nervousness. “Heh, uh...” Alfred began, shook his head and continued, “Naaah, but, uh, I’m pretty good with a lockpick.” he said, smiling with nervous energy; he hadn’t taken into consideration that Ivan might not like the idea of some random guy he just met picking his locks. Alfred had only began to reconsider the intelligence in bringing up his ‘special talent’ when he received his responce from the other man.

           “Really?” The latter man asked, excitement growing on the man’s features, “So I get to go back into my apartment to sleep?” He added in wonder, the simple idea of being able to sleep in his own bed exciting the young man.

           Alfred blinked and in an instant the American had regained every last ounce of his momentum and the characteristic grin bloomed once more on his face. “Yeah!” Alfred replied, excitement bubbling up in him, “You’ll be in that apartment before you even know it!” Upon that being said, Alfred gathered all his items and stood up from the sofa, “Just lemme put this stuff in my place, get some stuff and then we’ll get you into your place!” Alfred chimed happily.

           The excited American headed to his apartment with the Russian in tow. Alfred entered his apartment and reemerged, surprised to see Ivan, “Hey man; waitin’ for me?” Alfred wondered, digging some stuff out of his pocket.

           Ivan looked at Alfred as if he was surprised and shook his head, “Oh, well yes, but this is my apartment.” THe taller man said, gesturing to the apartment across the hall from the blonde’s. Ivan was amused at the way Alfred’s face lit up at the fact.

           “Dude! We get to be apartment buddies!” He practically sang the declaration.

           Ivan smiled; he was beginning to forget why his day may have been bad, “Best apartment buddies.” Ivan confirmed 

           With a wide grin, Alfred went up to Ivan’s door, “Well let’s get my best buddy into his house!” he announced kneeling down before the door knob to get to work.

           Ivan watched the man work with a smile, he never thought that it would turn out to be fortunate to have been locked out of his apartment. “But know, that if you ever break into my home, I will shatter your legs and feed you the bone shards.” Ivan teased, but with more seriousness than he intended.

           Alfred brought his eyes up from the lock to look into the Russian’s; the man was smiling, but it seemed to hold a level of hidden violence in it. Alfred looked up at him for a long moment before letting out a chuckle, grinning at the taller man. 

           “Sorry, dude, you missed your chance, these’re prosthetic.” Alfred said and tapped at his shins before gesturing to the entire leg with a sweeping hand motion. 

           Ivan’s eyes widened and within seconds he was filled with abate horror and shame. Ivan had only been poking fun, continuing the teasing they had been engaging in since they met. Ivan cringed at the comment he made; now Ivan had forcefully caused a traumatic experience to resurface for his new ‘buddy’. Ivan couldn’t stop the sudden onslaught of horrible potential ways the poor American lost his legs. He couldn’t feel more ashamed in that moment.

           Perhaps it was a car accident? Or a work related accident? Ivan shuddered at the possibilities, only being dragged out of the train of thought when he heard laughter ringing through the air. 

           Alfred was laughing

           “Gotcha!” Alfred announced with a grin to compliment his laughter, “Nah my legs are as real as they can get!” Alfred added with a nod as he turned his attention back to the lock. Before returning to work on the lock, Alfred shot a glance over his shoulder, unsurprised to see a displeased Russian towering above him. “D’awww, I’m sorry, Ivan; I couldn’t help myself.” Alfred said, marking himself down as lucky upon noting that Ivan didn’t seem to resent him for it.

           “I was just teasin’.” Alfred added after a moment, “Sorry big guy.”

           “Mmm, well I already forgive you.” 

           Alfred gasped and turned his attention away from the lock once more to look at the taller man, “Wow, cute  _ and _ quick to forgive?” He said, grinning widely as he gauged Ivan’s reaction before turning his attentions once more back to the lock. 

           Ivan was relieved once Alfred took his attention away from him, but, it was short lived as the American continued, “Yep, first I’ll pick the lock to your house ‘n then I’ll find the key to your heart.” Alfred said, flashing a toothy grin over his shoulder to the now extremely flustered Russian. “Cuz, ya know, if given the choice, I’d definitely lock _ pick _ you.” The blonde added, giving the reddening man a wink to which Ivan promptly hid his embarrassed face in his hands.

           Ivan heard a chuckle erupt from the American and then a series of clicks and rattles from the lock. Ivan only removed his hands from his face when he heard the distinct sound of his apartment door swinging open. Upon removing his hands Ivan saw an extremely proud looking Alfred before him; weather he was proud of picking the lock or making him blush so horribly Ivan wasn’t sure.

           “Ta-daaa.” Alfred sang, gesturing at the open doorway, “Now that I got you into your apartment I gotta step up my game and get myself in here.” Alfred said, leaving Ivan confused for all but a moment as Alfred took two decisive steps forwards and pressed a gentle, yet determined hand against Ivan’s chest: against Ivan’s heart.

           With that any embarrassment that had left the poor Russian before returned with even greater intensity. “Wh-Who,” Ivan began, capturing Alfred’s undivided attention, “Who said that, that it was locked for you?” Ivan asked the other, relieved that he was able to voice the question before his throat closed up.

           Alfred looked up at the Russian, quizzical for a second before joy filled his expression, a jubilant glint in his eyes, “Oh yeah?” The American asked, trying to mask his utter exuberance with a cool demeanor and failing, “Heey that saves both of us time then.” Alfred jested, trying his best to keep his celebrating inner and to a minimum.

           “I suppose it does.” Ivan replied, more embarrassed than he had even been in his whole love, but loving each moment of it; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled that widely.

           “Sooo, I’ll be seeing you again soon?” Alfred wondered as he moved out of the doorway, “apartment buddy? Apartment boyfriend?” Alfred was grinning.

           Despite the almost debilitating embarrassment the Russian was feeling in that moment, he still managed to say, “Well, you can pick the lock to my house right? So I suppose you get to decide that.” Ivan said, a smile on his face as he playfully nudged the shorter man. Alfred’s grin couldn’t get wider.

           “Hmm, yes, I’ll have to keep that in mind.” Alfred mused, tapping his chin in pretend thought.

           “Yes, you’ll have to.” Ivan replied, stepping into his apartment and taking the doorknob in hand, “I will see you when I see you, da?” Ivan said, the smile still on his face as he closed the door. Ivan heard a chuckle and a response from the American he couldn’t quite make out as he twisted the lock to his apartment closed.

           Upon locking the door, Ivan couldn’t help but hope the American would pick the lock once again right then and there. Ivan stood, at nervous attention before the door for a minute before his hopes began to deflate. He supposed that it was a little to optimistic of him to think the American would take him up on his offer right at that moment. Ivan let out a breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding and started to his kitchen, his arms full of groceries. 

           Ivan was leaning against the countertop, wondering what would be a suitable late night snack when he heard a series of quick clicks from his doorway before looking over and watching the door swing open easily. 

           “Hey so have you ever even had flamin’ hot cheetos? Cuz I dunno if you know, but they’re, like, the eighth wonder of the world man.” Alfred said, standing proudly in the Russian’s doorway once more, the bag of junk food tucked under his arm as he shoved his infiltration tools into his pocket.

           Ivan looked at Alfred, unaware of the gigantic smile he wore on his face, unaware of how happy he was to see the American in his doorway, “No,” Ivan returned simply with a shake of his head, “But if you love them so much, they must be at least a little good, da?” Ivan said, gesturing to the table. 

           “‘A little good’? A  _ little _ ?” Alfred echoed, a display of mock shock and disgust on his face, “Oooh ye of little faith, come! Come to the table and allow Alfred F. Jones, herald of the flame, set you down the path of deliciousness!”

           Ivan chuckled, “We shall see.” he replied, settling himself down at the table beside the enthusiastic blonde as he tore open the bag of flaming hot cheetos. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never actually had flaming hot cheetos, but, if they're anything like Alfred says they are, they're to die for.


	3. My day's all booked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they're college students and a certain British student pushes their relationship along.

           “Oh my God, he’s so hot.” Alfred muttered quietly, yet loud enough for his close friend, Arthur Kirkland, who was seated next to him, to hear.  Arthur let out a heavy breath, dragging his eyes up from his horrifically detailed schedule to look at his friend; if he hadn’t heard what the taller blonde said, he would have surmised that Alfred was on the brink of a panic attack or a type of conniption.

During the time between him voicing his praises and Arthur bringing his gaze to his friend, the man had stood from the table they were seated at in the library, hauled himself the short ways to a nearby bookshelf, and was gripping the side of the fine, elaborately decorated wooden shelf with a fierce grip. Arthur needn’t look to know whom his friend was addressing, but, when he did, his gaze met the familiar figure of the tall, Russian, study abroad student who was seated peacefully in an armchair, reading what looked to be a rather long novel, a small stack of book settled beside the armchair on the floor along with a fashionable leather book bag. He was settled in for quite a while, it would seem.

Arthur returned his gaze back to his friend and, as per usual, Alfred was gawking. Alfred was looking at the man with an intense, yet appreciative stare, as if the Russian would soon disappear for good and Alfred needed to commit the man’s visage to memory for the sake of his own, personal posterity. The taller blonde was lucky that the object of his affections was nose deep in a book, otherwise he may have scared him off.

“Alfred, you’re being creepy.” Arthur commented flippantly, paging languidly through his textbook that lay open beside him; he turned to a glossary within it, then added, sarcastically after a moment and once Alfred had pried himself free from the bookshelf to sit back beside the British student, “Or as the French may say: ‘ _terrifiant_ ’.” Arthur looked to his friend who was now opting to peer over the bookshelf from his now seated position. The new position didn’t provide as nice of a view of the Russian, but it was notably less obvious, he supposed.

“...Because gods forbid you go talk to him.”

“Ohh, shut up.” Alfred huffed, breaking his sight free of the Russia to give his friend a dirty look. “As if _you’re_ doing any better in your ‘pursuits’.” Alfred said, a knowing tone in his voice.

Arthur shook his head at this, left to right in slow, sweeping motions, an affirmed smiling forming on curt lips. “That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Jones.” he said before closing his textbooks, it being his turn to have a knowing quality to him. Arthur displayed the title of the textbook to the American in a manner similar to the way Vanna White proudly, yet sophisticatedly displays word puzzles. _Advanced Conversational French_ the title read. Arthur rested the book on the table once again, giving it an affectionate pat on the cover. He then, while leaning over to fish through his bookbag, tapped his phone awake; this was turning into quite the showcase for the Briton.

Arthur pulled out another paperback textbook with a content hum before displaying it to the American in the same, showcasing manner: _French literature for Adult learners._ Arthur was smiling at his friend by this point, further amused that Alfred hadn't put the pieces together by that point; all that that meant was that he got to display more of his fine evidence.

With his freshly awakened phone, Arthur scooped it into his grasp and scooted closer to the American, who was still slow on the uptake; Arthur delighted in this and gestured to his phone to draw Alfred’s attention there.

Alfred knit his brow, but brought his focus to the screen of the electronic device nevertheless. Arthur was learning French, so what?

Arthur snapped his fingers to recapture the taller man’s attention as he noticed it drifting while he scrolled through his contacts. Alfred forced himself to refocus his attention to the name of the content at which Arthur was now pointing.

Francis Bonnefoy? The French guy Arthur was crazy for?

Alfred opened his mouth to begin forming a jape. Perhaps Alfred would reference how he was also in Arthur’s phone contacts and how they weren’t dating, but, Alfred was quickly hushed back into a silence he hadn’t even had the chance to depart from; Arthur had a way of telling when Alfred was going to sass him, it seemed.

Alfred huffed, crossed his arms over his chest, and resumed his focusing on the scruffy blonde’s phone. He watched with growing impatience as Arthur opened his social media app. Alfred and Arthur were friends on the media platform, yes, but this wasn’t going to stop Alfred from making a quick joke about whether his friend gets much use out of the social app. Alfred opened his mouth once more despite his previous instruction to silently spectate. He let out a displeased tut as Arthur hushed him again and directed his attention to a line of text on the page he loaded.

Alfred looked at the time stamp of the post, the text of the post, and the picture displayed alongside it and sucked in a sharp breath of air, “You’re _dating?_ ” Alfred exclaimed with volume that was certainly not appropriate for a library setting. Both blondes could feel the irritated looks that were thrown their way as a result of the sudden noise, but neither seemed to care, Alfred’s face adapting one of amazed shock and Arthur’s one of smug delight.

“Quite so.” Arthur said simply, a smirk splaying across his face. “Now what was it you were saying?” the Briton wondered with mock wonder, “Something about my unsuccessful pursuits?”

Alfred harrumphed, blatantly ignoring the man’s sarcastic question.

Arthur hummed in amusement with the turn of events while admiring the photo of him and Francis displayed on his profile page. “You know what I think might do the trick? It worked for me with Francis.” Arthur commented, not bothering to remove his focus from his boyfriend’s smiling face.

Arthur, after his announcement, hadn’t really lost Alfred’s attention, rather he had it now more than he had ever had it during their whole conversation. Alfred had many question for Arthur now: How dare he not tell him? How long have they been dating? How did they get together? All of these questions hid behind an irritated scowl of Alfred’s. He was certain Arthur would only use these questions to stoke his own egotistical fire, so he suppressed his curiosity.

“What?” Alfred finally answered, a pout on his face as he noted the grin on the Briton’s.

“Talking. To. Him.” Arthur said, melodramatically pausing between each word of the sentence.

Alfred scoffed and gave his friend a disdainful look, as if he had expected any golden nuggets of advice from the Briton in those moments. “Thanks, man; really came through for me there.” Alfred said with a huff before adding, “‘bout as useful as a wagon with square wheels.”

Arthur tutted several times, shaking his head, “I don’t know how else you intend to get into Ivan’s good graces, Alfred.”

“Ivan?” Alfred echoed, bringing his attention back to Arthur, not realizing that his attention had naturally drifted back to the student still reading in the armchair. Yes, Alfred thought for a few moments, he did look like an Ivan. He looked like an Ivan who liked gardening, who would schedule appointments for you when you didn’t want to talk on the phone, and who would lay comically on top of you, but function splendidly as a blanket. Alfred was jarred from these thoughts, however, as Arthur’s voice rang through his ears, funneling Alfred’s waning attention back to him.

“Gods. You didn’t even know his name?” Arthur asked, “You’ve been obsessing over him and you don’t even know the man’s name?” Arthur wondered, befuddled by the American’s knowledge, or lack thereof, of his friend who was head-over-heels for the Russian across the room.

“I just never got the chance to talk to him!” Alfred spouted quickly in his defense. Alfred’s face scrunched up, displeased that he’d dug up Arthur’s previous suggestion of talking to the foreign student.  “How do _you_ know his name?” Alfred asked quickly, eager to distance the conversation from the idea that would require him to muster all his courage.

“We’re both study abroad students, Alfred. The study abroad students have meetings every week, remember? You know, the very same meetings I said you should come to that you were ‘too busy’ for?”

“Well that’s just unfair then.” Alfred retorted, “ _I’m_ not a study abroad student.” he huffed, the rebuttal making sense in his head.

Arthur opened his mouth to begin explaining the flaws in Alfred’s logic, but, deciding that he didn’t want to expend the effort in doing so, Arthur simply offered a sigh in reply. “Yes, I suppose.” Arthur said after a moment, deciding the put the final nail in the coffin that held Alfred’s understanding. “Anyway; do you think that you could be the _best_ friend ever and go put this book back in the book depository?” The Briton wondered, pulling a novel out of his bag and holding it out to the American.

The American huffed, but took the book anyway; he could use the returning of the book as a gateway to leaving the conversation behind them.

“Wonderful.” Arthur said as the taller blonde snatched the book from his hands, “Thank you, Alfred.” he said, taking a piece of paper and a pen to write with out of his bag; he watched the American stand to begin his venture to the front desk of the library before beginning to write on the retrieved paper, “You’re delightful.”

“Yeah; I’m a delight.” Alfred said, tucking the book under his arm and leaving the table. “Think about what you wanna do for dinner while I go do this.” Alfred added as he exited earshot of the Briton.

“Mmhm.” Arthur hummed, looking over the last sentence he’d written for fluency.

\------

        Upon his return, Alfred was surprised to see the absence of his British friend. He first assumed that the Briton had the nerve to ditch him, but upon noticing that his backpack was still there, he concluded that Arthur most likely had to use the bathroom. Alfred seated himself and began conjuring up ideas about where they could go for dinner; Arthur was unreliable when choosing dining locations.

        It was when Alfred decided that he was in the mood for Chinese that his friend returned. “Hey.” Arthur said as he seated himself back at the table.

        “Hey.” Alfred returned, leaning over, picking up his backpack, and zipping it shut.

        “Oh. Alfred.” Arthur injected quickly, “Do you think I could see your geology book quick?”

        “Hm? Yeah, you got it.” Alfred said, opening his backpack once more the begin fishing around for the textbook. “Uh, well shit, dude, I guess I forgot it at the dorm.” Alfred said, knitting his brow in confusion.

        “That’s preposterous; we shared your geology book today in class.” Arthur corrected and then added, “You were looking at it before when we first got here; before you noticed Ivan was here, anyway.”

        “Uuh, well it’s gone.” Alfred said, confirming the textbook’s absence with a quick scan of the area and his backpack; Alfred brought his gaze to his British friend’s face, a suspicious glint in his eyes, “Well, give it back.” Alfred warned.

        “I don’t know what you’re talking about; I don’t have it.” Arthur said with as much innocence as he could attempt to make believable. The charade didn’t work on Alfred, however.

        “Well, where is it?” Alfred asked, reaching for Arthur’s backpack.

        “Oooh that’s right.” Arthur responded quickly, as if remembering, but too quickly to make it appear believable, “Ivan has it.”

        “ _ What _ ?” Alfred asked, despite hearing the statement clearly.

        “Ivan has it.” Arthur said once more, unable to stop a smirk from blooming on his face. Arthur leaned to the side, peering over the bookshelf to examine the current topic of conversation. “Right; I do believe he’s discovered that there’s a rogue geology book added to his pile.” Arthur added, returning his gaze slowly to his American friend; Arthur was grinning. “I say, don’t you have to go get it?” He wondered the smirk on his face betraying the curious tone in his voice, “I mean, it is your book after all.”

        “ _ You _ go get it!” Alfred whispered harshly, leaning in close to the Briton and giving him a dangerous and purposeful stare, “You put it over there; you get it.”

        “Oooh, Alfred, but that would be stealing. It’s your book, after all. And, I mean, it’s not like he saw me place it there.”

        “Well you go’n tell him how sneaky ‘n deceptive you were ‘n go get my book back.” He grumbled, poking roughly at the scruffy blonde’s chest.

        “Now Alfred, who would believe a crazy story like that?” Arthur asked, tilting his head to the side, the facade of innocence adequately hiding the cunning snake that lay beneath it. “What would I gain from hiding your book amongst his? I just don’t find that to be a believable story, Alfred.” Arthur continued, a fiendish grin escaping across Arthur’s mouth before he quickly returned to his innocent visage.

Alfred glared at him and he counted his lucky stars that they weren’t enemies before dropping his backpack unceremoniously on the library chair and looking across the room to Ivan; he indeed was examining the textbook, confusion clear on his face; the Russian must not be in geology. Alfred turned around, giving Arthur another disapproving look, “You’re a _devil_.”

“Go and fetch your book: unless you intend to not to the geology reading for Monday.” Was all Arthur offered in response, analyzing the progress of his fingernail growth. “And unless you intend to lose your geology book.” Arthur added with a soft chortle.

“ _Demon!_ ” Alfred hissed softly, shoving his friend in a less than gentle manner, “Get a priest and holy water cuz we got a freakin’ _demon_ on campus.”

“I’ll be sure to contact the bible study group.” Arthur quipped folding his hands in his lap and looking up to the American, “Wouldn’t that make for a fun Friday evening?”

“ _You’re_ the reason homicides happen.” Alfred snarled quietly before turning around and beginning his journey to the Russian.

“Glad to know that I’m an immortal demon, then.” came Arthur’s swift reply, frustrating Alfred to no end that he didn’t have the last word.

“Jerk.” Alfred muttered as he passed the nonfiction section of books on his journey across the library.

Alfred was about halfway across the library when the nerves settled into his system. Alfred was going to have to go talk to him. He was going to have to go try to explain how his textbook got into his pile. How was he going to do that? He was going to look like a complete freak. _How_ did Arthur manage to get it there without Ivan noticing? Was he _actually_ a demon?

As Alfred continued to puzzle how Arthur got the book into the Russian’s pile in the first place, he neglected to notice that he’d come to stand directly in front of his current problem: Ivan holding his geology book.

“Uhm, are you Alfred Jones, by chance?” The Russian wondered, glance to a piece of paper that Alfred assumed he left in the book.

“U-U-Uh-- Alfred!” The American exclaimed, his voice shrill, cracking on the second syllable of his name.

“Soo,” Ivan began, gesturing with the book in one hand and the piece of paper in the other, “This is your book?”

“Y-yeah.” Alfred answered, eyes locked with the title of the textbook rather than the face of the person he was talking to. “How’d you know?” Alfred asked dumbly.

“Oh, this note you wrote.” Ivan replied simply, displaying it to the American.

“Note?” The blonde wondered, furrowed his brow, and then plucked the note from the Russian’s hand. Even with just a cursory glance, Alfred could tell this wasn’t a note of his; it wasn’t his handwriting: it was too neat. It was in cursive.

This was Arthur’s handwriting.

“ _Hello, Ivan. My name is Alfred Jones and I am very,_ _very_ _desperate and I want to date you so, so badly. I’ve been staring at you from across the library for most of my time here today; I adore you so much. It’s rare that you don’t come up in the conversations I have with my friends, Ivan and I’m sure that I have dreams about you by this point. I’ve placed this note in my geology book for you to find in hopes that you would read it and, thusly, give me a chance at being your boyfriend. Do you think that you could please date me so I can stop bugging my wonderful friend, Arthur Kirkland, about how I love you so? I promise that I’m normally rather funny and not nearly as awkward and plonker-y as I seem right now._

_Thank you so much,_

_Alfred Jones.”_

        “Oh my god.” Alfred whispered, color draining from his face as he blazed through the first section of the letter, “Oh my god!” Alfred cried, face red with embarrassment, rage, or shame, he couldn’t tell, by the time he finished reading the whole of it. “I’ll kill him!” Alfred roared whipping his head around and then his whole body to face the demon: Arthur Kirkland.

        There Arthur was, having what looked to be a very pleasant conversation with Francis, who seemed to have appeared while his back was turned. As if feeling Alfred’s heated gaze drilling into his, Arthur brought his eyes to meet Alfred; it was after analyzing the American’s face and noting the note held tightly in Alfred’s grasp and the British student shot an impish grin across the library at him. Alfred was going to lose it.

        Alfred took a deep breath, mouth wide with promise of a loud insult. The insult never came, however, as the America’s attention was snapped back to Ivan as the Russian tapped his shoulder, “Do you think you could kill him after we go on a date?” The Russian wondered, a small smile on his lips.

        Alfred gasped, sputtered, and almost choked on his own saliva before he could form a proper response. “You, you  _ wanna _ ?” Alfred asked, abject confusion and surprise awash on his face. The taller male simply nodded in response before reasserting that he wanted to date the American. “You wanna! I wanna!” Alfred cheered, every emotion draining out of him aside from one: happiness.

        Ivan released a soft giggle from his lips, “I wanna!” He chirped, laughing as the American’s head suddenly plowed into his shoulder as the American embraced him.

        “Where do you wanna go?” Alfred wondered, excitement radiating from the smaller blonde.

        Ivan smiled, “I dunno, but I wanna.” He responded, silently delighting in how excited his date was.

        “I wanna, too!” Alfred practically sang as he took Ivan’s hand into his and headed for the exit.

        “How convenient.” Ivan responded, allowing himself to be guided by the American to where their date would eventually take place, “I also wanna.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had some odd problems with formatting this chapter on here... if something seems out of place feel free to point it out, but, regardless, I hope you enjoyed it!


	4. Goodbye to a world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there's a blizzard one evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name of this chapter is inspired by a song by Porter Robinson, Goodbye to a World; I listened to this pretty much the whole time I wrote this chapter haha.

            Alfred sat at his dining table. Their dining table. He sat with his usual poor posture, eyes drifting languidly between the cluster of items he’d gathered in the minutes prior.

            A ring- two rings. A brooch. Alfred traced large, slow circles along the surface of the fine, wooden table.

            A coffee mug sculpted into the shape of a happy looking robot. “Whenever I see you working, you’re so focused and mechanical you’re like a robot; it fits.” They teased as Alfred unwrapped the gift.

            An aged looking letter as well as several other letters.

            A delicate looking vase with an uplifting phrase etched into it. They glass blown the vase together; he had wanted to touch the molten glass. “It just looks so cool to touch,” he would say in his defense. Alfred would laugh when they corrected him: “No, it’s hot to touch, Alfred.”

             There was a photograph; they looked happy in it. It was of that time they went to the local pumpkin patch together. Alfred was the self-proclaimed ‘pumpkin king’ no matter what a specific claymation movie would say otherwise.

            There were two jackets draped over two respective chairs.

            And, finally, there was another coffee mug. This one was completely covered with hand painted flowers. Alfred knew none of them except for one; the handle of the mug was the shape and look of a sunflower; he knew that much for certain.

            Alfred felt his fists clench and his mouth contorted into a frown. He closed his eyes, willed his fist to unclench, willed his mouth to return to a resting position, and tuned his hearing to the soft crackle of the nearby fireplace.

            Why weren’t they there?

            They did this every year.

            They were supposed to be there.

            “Ivan...”

            It was December 30th; their birthday. Ivan’s birthday, that is. Alfred was having a difficult time being apart from Ivan as the ‘quadruple threat’ of special occasions- Christmas, Ivan’s birthday, and New Years- bulldozed through the month. New Year’s served the double function of being a holiday as well as being their anniversary.

            Alfred couldn’t stand to be apart from Ivan on their birthday. Not after being apart for Christmas eve _and_ Christmas day- Alfred considered them to ‘practically be separate holidays’ and would subject Ivan to a multitude of ‘festivities’ on both separate days. Alfred and Ivan would take turns deciding which festivities they would partake in, however; to keep things interesting. Last year, Alfred picked how they celebrated the 30th of December. That meant that this year, it was Ivan’s turn to choose.

            It was Ivan’s turn. Ivan was supposed to be here. It was _Ivan’s_ turn. They were supposed to pick.

            “Ivan.” he said. Alfred felt his throat clench up and his heart grow heavy as he said the name, “Ivan.” he repeated. He felt without purpose without Ivan. Minutes or even hours passed without Alfred’s knowledge; what was the point? It was all his fault, really. It was his fault.

 

            Alfred’s fists were clenched, his eyes open; he was standing before the fireplace with crumpled letters in hand. One moment more and those letters would have ended up in the fireplace, all without Alfred’s knowing. The increased intensity in heat as he reached the fireplace brought him back to the present. He knit his brow, giving the fireplace a cursory glance before taking notice of the letters in his hands. Alfred looked between the fire which licked hungrily at the air for the fresh kindling he held and slowly looked back to the letters in his hands. His shoulders jerked and drew up. His fists clenching tighter around the papers. No. He needed these letters. The contents of the letters made his eyes grow heavy.

            This wasn’t supposed to happen. Where was Ivan? Alfred shoved the letters into his pants pocket, his chin quivering. He turned, eyes slowly widening, a hard ball forming and weighing down his chest as he spotted the broken off arm of the robot coffee mug on the hardwood floor. Alfred’s eyes followed the destruction, finding a cluster of shattered ceramic pieces by the brick exterior of the fireplace. He turned his head back towards the table, vision blurring when his eyes found the handle of Ivan’s flower mug, detached and broken in two beside the leg of the chair he last sat in.

            Although Alfred removed his eyes from the chaos, the images swam unbidden in his mind. On the tabletop lay scattered bits of the shattered glass blown vase; no optimistic words or uplifting phrases would fix it. Beside a cluster of shards from the vase were cleaved fragments of the flower mug. Peppered over the broken mug were scraps and fringes of the crisp, sunny Autumn afternoon at the pumpkin patch. Alfred loved that picture.

             On the table there was no sign on the brooch, there was no sign of the ring- of either of the rings. _Oh God: where were the rings?_ Alfred’s shoulders trembled and he felt pain in his palms. He looked down; both rings forcefully shoved onto the same finger and both hands bloodied. “Ivan,” Alfred whispered, closing his eyes and bringing the blood-stained rings to his lips, “Ivan.” Alfred placed a gentle kiss against the metal. “I love you.”. It was his fault.

            Alfred cried.

 

            There was a blizzard that evening of December 30th. Alfred could hear the fiendish winds rattle the windows as he feebly picked at fragments of the picture to reassemble it. This was going nowhere, Alfred thought, shaky breaths echoing throughout the cabin. He held a torn half of Ivan’s face in his hand, strived to find the other half of their face, pushed both halves together, and tried his best to ignore the tears that fell to the table top while he appreciated Ivan’s smiling face.

            Alfred couldn’t bear it any longer. He needed to see Ivan. This was his fault.

            Alfred heard once more the blizzard howling outside the front door when he approached it, but, nevertheless, he gripped the doorknob and pushed it open. Alfred didn’t bother with his coat, hat, scarf, or gloves. He stepped outside, the harsh winter wind blowing against his ill prepared skin. This winter was colder than the last had been and colder still than the winter from two years before; With no hat, gloves, scarf, boots, or jacket hypothermia would set in quickly.

           Prepared or not, Alfred descended the steps of their front porch, allowing the winds of the blizzard to do as they pleased with the door and dragged his legs through the knee-high snow drifts that accumulated over the last week. This was his fault.

           Alfred reached the side of the house where his car sits parked and progressively being covered by sheets of snow so numerous he didn’t care to count. He approached the car and walked passed it, eyes squinting behind his glasses at the boreal forest in the proximity. The indigenous needle covered branches of the conifers were whipped this way and that by the strong winds of the blizzard. He made his way into the forest.

           Even without a constant light source, Alfred could navigate himself competently through the dozens upon dozens of evergreens. Momentary gaps in the cloud cover above would grant him a few moments of moonlight to guide himself with, but, even without the light Alfred knew where Ivan would be. Alfred knew that Ivan was one mile away. 5,280 feet away. 63,360 inches away. He would meet them again.

           Alfred could still see Ivan’s smiling face amongst the early spring ephemerals. He could still smell the mingling scent of flower blooms and tree sap. Alfred could still see where the dirt path lead through the forest in the springs. Alfred didn’t hear the shifting and crunching of the snow, but rather, he heard the soft rustling as he moved through patches of tall grass. With rote movements, Alfred moved through snow drifts and snow banks where he knew the dirt path lay underneath; Alfred didn’t feel the cold, hardened snow resisting and scraping against his ankles; he didn’t feel or see his skin burning with cold and growing numb and discolored. Alfred felt the soft brushes of sedges and grasses against his hands and ankles as he walked along the dirt path. Alfred saw that the Fairy slippers and Mountain bells were doing exceptionally well this spring. Ivan taught him those wildflowers; his skills were improving, Alfred thought.

           After weaving through a few feet of Spring beauty, White pine, and Jack pine, Alfred came to a small, yet distinct, clearing in the forest. He was there.

            “ _Ivan_.” Alfred thought as he passed through the clearing of Jack pines. A short distance away from him, in the middle of the clearing, beside a boulder, was a cross secured firmly in the earth. Fortunately, the cross hadn’t been fully covered by this season’s snowfall; Alfred knew he would find it no matter what, though.

           Alfred didn’t feel the ice clinging to his frostbitten skin; he didn’t know that he’d lost the ability to use his hands. He didn’t feel the tears frozen to his cheeks or the ice crystals gathered on his eyelashes. He didn’t see that his skin had become blue and puffy, and he didn’t note how slow his pulse was becoming. Despite his heart beginning to fail him, Alfred only felt his heart soar. He saw Ivan. They were there, their characteristic warm smile on their face. Ivan’s eyes looked exactly as Alfred remembered them: vibrant and... details were beginning to escape Alfred.

           The fact that his legs were beginning to fail him didn’t impede Alfred’s progress; he was beside the grave in what felt like only moments to him. This was his fault.

            “Ivan _._ ” He tried to articulate and then plummeted down into the snow. He wanted to bring his arms up and hug Ivan, but he couldn’t; what was stopping him, Alfred wondered. In a moment, however, Alfred could feel Ivan surrounding him in a warm embrace. Alfred could feel Ivan’s soft face against his; he could feel their hair brush against his own as they nestled their head in the crook of his shoulder. He smelled the familiar scent of teas and honey and sunflowers that always seemed to follow Ivan around. Alfred could hear Ivan murmuring softly; he felt their words against his neck: “ _I love you. Don’t blame yourself.I love you.”_

            _Don’t blame yourself._

           Alfred felt his eyes close. In his few remaining moments, Alfred was physically incapable of smiling, but, as he lay dying, he was at his happiest. “ _I love you too.”_ he didn’t feel this happiness ever since the accident. Since Ivan died.

            _Don’t blame yourself_

           As more and more sheets of snow drifted down, beginning to hide his body, Alfred died with a smile on his face, a kiss to his lips, and his arms around Ivan; of his, he was certain.

**Author's Note:**

> Who do you think died? Alfred or Ivan?   
>  Ha, I'm a horrible person


End file.
